


Dove

by honeymandos



Category: Pedro Pascal - Fandom, game of thrones
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, Game of Thrones AU, Modern AU, Principal Martell, single dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27561763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeymandos/pseuds/honeymandos
Summary: You are an elementary school teacher, and Oberyn is the Principal of the school. It might be unprofessional, but you can hardly help falling for him.
Relationships: Oberyn Martell x Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 74





	1. Prologue

You set the final trinket on your desk, a small bee figurine you had been given as a child. You were quite happy with how the classroom turned out, posters on the walls and the desks arranged in groups for all the children. You had spent hours in the classroom over the summer making everything perfect, from the curriculum down to the decorations in the room. 

The bell rings over the intercoms for the first day of the school year, a swarm of second graders entering your class with wide eyes and joyful smiles. You stand up from your desk and center yourself at the front of the room, offering a kind smile to all of your students. 

“Hello, class! On each desk you will find a name tag, and if you are in the right spot, you will find your name somewhere in this room.” 

You watch as the students mill about, slowly finding their way to their assigned seats and sitting down. Once all of them have sat down in their seats, you clap your hands and begin class. 

You had always loved teaching children. Older kids were too much of a hassle, always arguing, and toddlers were too much supervision, but elementary school seemed to be the perfect balance. You loved seeing a concept click in a kids’ mind, knowing you just helped to teach them something. Knowing that you were helping them, that you were doing good in their lives… that’s what made it all worth it to you. 

This school was a good one. You had yet to meet your boss or many of your coworkers, but you had heard only positive things about them from the numerous people around town you had spoken to. You had heard particularly good thinks about your boss, the principal of the school you worked at.

You remember one of your best friends, Julie, gushing over the man as you sat with her in the crowded brunch restaurant. She couldn’t stop chatting your ear off about how kind and gentle he was. 

“Not to mention that he’s smoking hot,” she had added smugly, throwing you a wink as she took a bite of her overpriced toast. 

You hadn’t met him yet, although you figured it would only be a matter of time. He was technically your boss, after all. You couldn’t help but to be curious about this man you’d heard so much about. 

The bell rang for recess about an hour later, your signal to go up to the front office and make an attempt to greet all of your new coworkers. You nervously grab your coffee mug in one hand, using the other to open the door of your classroom. 

Instead of finding the empty hallway, however, there is a rather confused looking man in the doorway. You yelp in surprise, stepping back a couple steps. He blinks and smiled sheepishly, walking fully into the doorway and closing the door behind him.

“I apologize for the fright. I am Principal Oberyn Martell. I wanted to come and greet you, although it seems I caught you on your way out,” he says, his voice rich and gruff. You swallow hard, attempting to compose yourself with a sweet smile. 

The rumors you had heard about him hardly did him justice. To put it simply, he was handsome. His jaw was accentuated perfectly by a dusting of dark facial hair, his lips curling into a smile as he studied your classroom. He donned a sunset yellow suit, a casual white tee shirt visible beneath it. He was the picture of elegance and power, his aura simultaneously comforting and intimidating. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” you say, setting your coffee mug down on a nearby desk to outstretch your hand towards him. He shakes it firmly, a dashing smile gracing his face. 

“You as well. You are teaching the second graders, correct?” He asks, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers. You grab your mug again and cradle it in your hands, nodding along with his words. 

“I do, I do. I’m very excited about it.” 

He chuckles, the sound practically melodic. 

“And I am excited for you to be here. I believe my son is in your class, I hope he will not be too much trouble for you.” 

You take a sip of your coffee and smile at him, shaking your head. 

“I doubt he will be. So far all of the students have been excellent,” you say reassuringly. Oberyn’s smile never falters as he looks at you, a twinkle of mirth in his eye. He opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by the loud sound of the bell ringing, signaling the students to return back to your classroom. He gives you a sheepish smile, pushing off of the wall and running a hand through his messy curls. 

“It was lovely meeting you, dove,” he says sweetly, turning to open the door. You pause for a moment, mulling over his words. 

“Dove?” you ask curiously, causing him to pause in the doorway. He smiles amusedly and looks over his shoulder at you, hesitating for a moment before speaking again. 

“Yes. You remind me of a dove,” he says gently, “do you mind?” 

“Not at all,” you beam, his eyes crinkling in delight before he turns and exits through the door, leaving the classroom. 

•••


	2. September

It was daunting, to say the least. Stepping into the main office building to see countless pairs of unfamiliar eyes trained on you, lingering awkwardly in the doorway. You muster up a smile as you look around, desperately trying to see if you knew anybody in the room.

A large hand clapped you on the back, startling you and causing you to jump a bit. You look up to meet Oberyn’s eyes, his lips pulled up in a mirthful grin. 

“Everybody, this is our newest teacher. She is teaching the second grade this year,” he announces, his rich voice booming through the room. He commanded respect, and yet, with his hand resting on your back, you had never felt so protected. 

A bubbly woman approached you, sticking out her hand toward you with a gigantic grin plastered upon her face. 

“Nice to meet you! I’m Ann,” she says sweetly, shaking your hand once you offer it up. 

She’s a pretty woman, no older than 30 with chestnut hair cropped to shoulder length. However, her fashion taste was… questionable, at best. She wore a pencil skirt reaching below her knees and a yellow long sleeved tee shirt, a pale pink cardigan layered over it. Her circular yellow earrings were large and garish, completing her bizarre ensemble.

“Hi,” you say meekly, watching as Oberyn walks away from the two of you with a smile, confident you would already be making friends. 

You refocus fully on Ann, who has now taken your arm and started gesturing wildly around the office, spurting fun facts about the paintings on the walls and the old office staff. 

“I can go around and introduce you to everyone, if you’d like,” she offers ecstatically, her Cheshire grin never falling. And you accepted, of course.

Ann was the kind of person you couldn’t help but to like. She was eccentric, kind, outgoing, beautiful. All of her kindergarten students loved her to pieces, and it was easy to see why. You fell in easily with her, chatting over lunch and while the kids had recess. 

You’d only been working at the school for about a week when she burst into your classroom at lunch, a bright smile on her face and a large paper bag from the grocery store in her hands. You peer into the bag as she approaches, grinning when you see cheap cookies and chicken tenders. 

“I got lunch,” she says in a singsong tone, tossing the bag carelessly onto your desk. You chuckle and stand up, fishing the contents out of the paper bag and setting them atop your desk. 

“Sooo,” Ann begins, grabbing one of the cookies from the box, “how has your first week been?” 

You smile meekly and take your own cookie, biting a small chunk off before answering. 

“Not too bad, honestly. Wish I could’ve seen more of the staff.” 

“You mean more of Mr. Martell,” Ann accuses playfully, giving you a teasing wink. You cough and put your cookie down, shaking your head. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh, everybody has a little crush on him. He’s hot,” she protests. You wipe a bit of frosting from the corner of your mouth and give an amused sigh. 

“I mean, objectively, sure. But I barely know anything about him.” 

Ann shrugs, taking another bite of her cookie. 

“Admit it, you wish he talked to you more.”

Your face flushes slightly as you grab a piece of chicken, taking a small bite and trying to sort out your thoughts. 

“Well,” you say, pausing to chew, “he seems kind. I wouldn’t mind being his friend.”

Ann rolls her eyes and gives you a playful shove, her eyes flitting up to the clock hung on the wall of your classroom. Her eyebrows shoot up and she begins frantically collecting the food and placing it back in the bag, discarding her half-eaten cookie in the trash bin beside your desk.

“I’ve gotta go, honey, but we are so picking up this conversation another time,” she states, pointing a finger at you. You smile weakly and silently hope she will forget all this by your next meeting, waving as she exits your class. 

•••

All the kids you taught with this year were surprisingly well behaved. One of the reasons you loved teaching elementary school was the small classes and the fact that you only taught one group of kids. It allowed you to get to know the child, eventually helping them learn the material. 

Not to mention younger kids were just generally better behaved in classrooms. 

“Teacher?” One of the children calls out, sticking his hand in the air after calling for you. You walk over to his desk and smile, crouching a little so he could see you. 

Ambrose Martell, who you had only very recently discovered was Oberyn’s son. You were surprised you hadn’t noticed the similarity before; they shared the same dark, tousled hair and striking brown eyes. His features were far softer than Oberyn’s, but you suspected that had to do partially with age. 

“Do you need help on the worksheet?” You ask, peering over at his paper. You raise your eyebrows in surprise when you realize it’s done, only 15 minutes after you assigned it. 

“No, I just finished. What do I do now?” 

You purse your lips and try to think back to the itinerary for today. The students were meant to be working on the handout for roughly 30 minutes, and you hadn’t planned anything for them to do if they finished early. 

“Wellllll,” you say, tapping on his desk, “do you have a library book you wanna read?” 

Ambrose shakes his head in a no. You hum and try to think of something else. 

“Tell you what. I’ve got some blank paper and some crayons in my desk, if you like drawing,” you offer, wiggling your eyebrows dramatically. Ambrose smiles excitedly, peering over at your desk as if he would be able to see the art supplies. 

“Yeah! I love drawing,” he says. You laugh lightly and get him the supplies from your desk, glad to see your students happy. 

You wonder vaguely what Oberyn’s wife is like, if she’s anything like Ambrose. Maybe that’s where he gets his soft features. It could also be the reason he doesn’t have an accent, but Oberyn does. 

You snap yourself out of it when the door opens, revealing the one man that’s been haunting your thoughts for the past few weeks. The children greet him excitedly and he mirrors their enthusiasm, a wide smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

He seemed to favor the casual suits, choosing a new one for each day. Today he donned a classy light-pink suit top with a white undershirt, tucked into his black jeans. He walked up to your desk with a smile and his hands stuck in his pockets, 

“Good morning. I see your class is fairing well,” he remarks, glancing behind him at his son coloring. He furrows his brows and looks back at you, a questioning look on his face. 

You sigh and get up from your chair, inching closer to him and leaning against your desk. 

“He’s very intelligent. He finished the assignment i half the time it was supposed to take them, so I let him color.” 

You can practically feel the pride radiating off of Oberyn at your words, his arms folding in front of his chest. 

“That’s excellent. I suspect he takes after me,” he jokes, nudging your shoulder. You laugh lightly, shaking your head. 

“I wouldn’t be to sure.” 

He makes a face of mock offense and gasps dramatically, clutching at his heart over his suit. 

“My dove, you have wounded me so,” he says, waving his hands in an over the top manner. Some of the kids begin to pick up on his dramatics and giggle, drawing the attention of the rest of the class. 

“Oh, calm down, you,” you tease, poking his shoulder. He grins and shakes his head, peering back over at his son. 

“What are you looking at?” He teases, getting an annoyed look from Ambrose, who begins scribbling furiously with his crayons. 

The class bubbles down and he sighs, looking back to you. 

“I should really be going. I was supposed to check in with all of the classes today, but it seems I got a tad distracted,” he laments with a nervous chuckle. You smile and pat his arm, letting out a small sigh. 

“Go on, then. I’m sure you’re busy.” 

“Wait,” he says in a hushed tone, “Before I go. Would you be interested in helping me organize the spirit week for next month? I need teacher volunteers.” 

You grin and nod without a thought.

“Of course, that sounds amazing. When should we go over it?” 

“Ah, I happen to be free today at lunch. We can discuss it over our meals,” he says with a brief wink. Your heart rate increases slightly at the gesture, but you make so move to show it. 

“Sure. Sounds great.”

“I will see you then,” he promises, walking backwards towards the door and shooting you a wave right before he exits. 

You weren’t… nervous, per say. Well, okay. Maybe you were just a teeny bit nervous. But who could blame you? It’s not like you were helping him organize some big event, but it was something, and the thought of screwing it up made your stomach churn. 

Beyond your fear of failure, you were actually looking forward to the lunch. Oberyn was the kind of guy that anybody could get along with, and conversation flowed easily between the two of you. There was never the fear of an awkward interaction with him, or the nagging thought of ‘what if I’m boring him?’. No, with him, it was like speaking with an old friend you’d known for years. 

You stood in front of his office door for a moment before tentatively knocking, the door immediately swinging open to find a joyful Oberyn, his signature smile painted upon his face.

He stepped aside to let you in, gesturing to a table with two chairs to the side in his office. You raised your brows at the space and furnishing of the place; it was much larger and much cozier than you had been expecting. 

“Please, sit,” he asks, politely pulling out a chair for you. You can’t help the blush that creeps up your neck at the action, obediently doing as he says. He sits across from you and folds his hands on the table, leaning forwards slightly. 

“We only have about thirty minutes before my son comes in to have lunch with me, so we better get moving,” he suggests, pulling out a brightly covered sheet of paper with some of the information on it. 

It was much easier than you were expecting. All you had to do was pick out fun and appropriate dress up days for the kids, and brainstorm fun class activities. It was almost fun, sitting at the table with him and picking things out. And, to your relief, not stressful in the slightest. 

You’d entirely lost track of time when you heard the pounding knock on the door, startling you into jumping up from your seat. Oberyn chuckles lightly and lays his hand over yours on the table, shaking his head. 

“That is just my son. Come in, Ambrose!” He calls, Ambrose bursting in not a moment later. In his hands he has a Star Wars themed lunchbox and a water bottle, tossing them on the table before he seems to realize you’re there. 

“Miss Dove!” He exclaims, a grin spreading on his face. You raise your brows at the nickname, looking over to Oberyn. He has a sheepish smile on his face, shaking his head gently. 

“I’m afraid the nickname might have been my fault. It seems my son has picked up on my name for you, Dove.” 

You have to restrain yourself from making an ‘aww’ sound out loud at the revelation. Does that mean he refers to you at home? As Dove? 

“That’s alright. He’s more than welcome to call me Miss Dove if he wants to,” you assure, casting your gaze over to Ambrose. He’s pulled up a smaller stool to the table and is digging around in his lunchbox without a care in the world. 

“Well, I better get going so you two can enjoy your lunch,” you say, standing up and pushing your chair in. Oberyn stands up after you, grabbing your arm instinctively. 

“I’m sure Ambrose would not mind if you would like to join us?” He says, looking down at his son who nods rapidly. 

“Ah, really, it’s okay. I’ve got, uh, papers to grade. Yeah. But I’ll see you around though, okay?” You say, giving him your best attempt at a smile. He mirrors it and releases your arm, watching in wonder and slog amusement as you scurry out of the office. 

“What was that about?” Ambrose asks, looking up to Oberyn. He sighs and shakes his head, slouching back down in his seat. 

“I have no idea.”


	3. October

The October wind blew through the school, the orange leaves falling off their branches, whisked away in the breeze. You tightened your scarf around your neck and curled your fingers around your to-go mug, relishing the heat the coffee was providing you. 

You walk into the classroom and flick on the light switch, relaxing a bit as the artificial warmth washes over you. Luckily, the school had no qualms with turning up the heat once the weather started cooling down. As much as you loved autumn, it could be quite bitter. 

You set your coffee down on your desk and begin flipping through the curriculum for the day, organizing the worksheets and books you were to hand out during class. 

Three knocks sound at your door, drawing your attention away from your work. It was one of three people; the janitor, Ann, or Oberyn. As much as you loved Ann and the janitor, Joe, you couldn’t help but hope it was Mr. Martell. 

“Come in!” You shout, the door letting in a crisp wisp of wind when it opens. You shiver and stand up, peering at who entered. 

To your delight, it’s Oberyn, in one of his colorful suits. This one happens to be white with light blue horizontal stripes, a matching scarf slung loosely around his neck. 

“Good morning,” he says, his tone chipper and upbeat. It seemed there was rarely a time that Oberyn was in a bad mood, not while he was around you, anyway. His smile was infectious, a small grin creeping onto your lips. 

“G’Morning. What brings you to my side of the school?” You ask curiously, setting down your pen and folding your hands. He sits atop one of the children’s desks, cradling a mug of tea between his legs. 

“Just wanted to say hello,” he says, pursing his lips. You smile harder at his words, fighting the dark blush you can feel beginning to grace your cheeks. 

“Well, hello. You’re sure that’s it?” 

“Ah,” he chuckles, peering down at his mug, “I suppose there was one more thing, if you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all,” you chirp, leaning back in your chair. 

“I wanted to speak about my son. He simply raves about you as a teacher, of course, it’s nothing to do with you. He is very intelligent, however, and has expressed boredom at the curriculum as it is,” he explains, one of his hands gesturing as he speaks. You nod in understanding, leaning forward towards him a little. 

“I was wondering your thoughts on a tutor, or perhaps lessons after school where he can learn more from you?” He asks. You smile and nod, clapping your hands together. 

“That would work great. He’s a very bright young man, and I would be more than willing to work with the two of you on giving him some more advanced subject material.” 

Oberyn smiles gratefully at you, raising his mug to his lips to take a sip of the steaming tea. 

Ah, you think, so that’s why he always smells like jasmine. 

“If it’s possible, may I meet you after school to discuss it further?” 

“Absolutely,” you agree, “just in the classroom, or…?”

He shakes his head, his mouth setting into a line. 

“I’m afraid I have to drop Ambrose off at soccer practice, so I will be in town. Is it possible to meet there somewhere? Perhaps we can speak about it over coffee?” He offers. You feel yourself blushing again at the prospect of a coffee date with him, pushing the thoughts out of your head as soon as they surface. This man has a wife, a kid, for heaven’s sake. And this was not a date. Not a date. 

“That sounds lovely. I’ll meet you there at 3:30?” 

“Will do. Until then, I hope your day goes wonderfully.” He says with a smile and a wink, pushing himself off of the desk and walking towards the door. He waves at you before leaving fully, letting another chilly gust of wind enter the room.

You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, staring blankly at the door even after he’s long gone. 

It’s been more than a little bit difficult to push him out of your mind, every interaction with him only making it worse. You didn’t want to call it a crush, but that’s what it felt like. 

God, how could you let this happen? You’d only been at this school for a little over a month and you were already finding yourself growing attached to the Principal. Your boss, who already has a whole family of his own. 

You sigh when the bell rings, snapping you out of your thoughts. You decide to try and push this to the back of your mind, at least for now. 

It was still bitterly cold outside after class had ended and you were walking along the streets of town, looking for the coffee shop Oberyn had wanted to meet you at. You’d done a little bit of exploring since you’d moved to the town, but not nearly as much as you had planned on.

It was quaint, almost, the small shops and restaurants lining the old road. Fall decorations were placed outside of nearly every storefront, a banner depicting rows of pumpkins strung across the narrow road. 

You finally spot the coffee shop and walk in briskly, a swoosh of warm air enveloping you as you enter. The strong smell of ground coffee beans lingers in the air around you, the slight aroma of butterscotch adding a sweet note to it. 

You look around curiously to see Oberyn already settled at a table for two, a couple papers haphazardly thrown on the table. He’s deep in thought as he inspects them, his reading glasses perched on the end of his perfectly curved nose. You smile and slide into the seat across from him silently, waiting for him to be done. 

He startles for a moment, glancing up at you in mild alarm. He visibly relaxes when he realizes it’s just you, his shoulders slouching slightly and a soft smile finding his lips. 

“I’m glad you found it okay. I was beginning to worry about my lack of directions,” he confesses. You shake your head and sling your bag on the back of your chair, rubbing your freezing hands together. 

“I found it okay. There’s only one coffee place in town, after all.”

“Well, I am glad. Let’s order and then start discussing things, yeah?” He asks. You nod in agreement and watch as he flags down one of the waiters in the shop, which apparently doubles as a bakery, judging from the large case of sweets at the front of the shop. The young man walks over with a professional smile on his face and his hands clasped behind his back. 

“Hello, welcome to Blackbird bakery and coffee. What can I get for you two lovebirds today?” He asks with a wink. You feel your face begin to heat in embarrassment, shaking your head on instinct. 

“We, uh, we aren’t a couple,” you explain, looking over to Oberyn with a flustered look on your face. He seems just as mortified as you, his face painted red and his lips parted just slightly. 

“Oh, my apologies for the misunderstanding!” The waiter says, letting out a lighthearted laugh. Oberyn lets out a forced laugh too, still sounding a bit uneasy. 

“I will have the cinnamon dolce latte, please,” Oberyn says with a dashing grin, the redness in his cheeks fading. You let out a breath, glad the situation was diffused so quickly. 

You order your favorite coffee and the waiter scurries away to retrieve them. You look over to Oberyn, a sheepish look crossing your expression. 

“I’m sorry about that,” you say, not quite sure why you’re apologizing. He gives you a smile and shakes his head, sighing. 

“It’s alright, you have nothing to apologize for. Not your fault at all,” he assures. You give a weak laugh and nod, nervously fidgeting with your hands. 

“You’ve lived here a while, right? It’s such a small town, you’d think they’d know you are married,” you remark. Oberyn presses his lips into a thin line and his eyes widen slightly. He removes his glasses and clears his throat, placing them gently on the table. 

“I’m, uh, I am not married,” he counters. You nearly die of embarrassment at his words, your mouth falling open. 

“Oh. Oh my God, I’m so sorry for assuming,” you say, quick to apologize. He lets out a genuine laugh, shaking his head.

“Truly, it’s alright, dove. Many people make the same assumption of me, it is perfectly okay.”

You let out a breath and give him a little smile, looking up when the waiter returns with your coffee. You smile gratefully and mutter a thanks as you take the hot mug into your hands, savoring the warmth it provides. 

Oberyn takes a sip from his own cup before putting it down on the table and shuffling with the papers, pulling one of them out and placing it in front of you. 

“This,” he says, tapping it lightly, “is the material he requested to learn more about.”

You glance over the page, raising your eyebrows in surprise. You were very proficient in these topics, and could teach them well, but you weren’t sure they were suited for a second grader. 

“Are you sure about this?” You ask, glancing up at him. “This is some pretty advanced stuff.” 

Oberyn nods, pulling the paper back to examine it himself. 

“Yes, yes. He is very bright. I have full confidence he will be able to master these abilities, if you agree to help him, of course.” 

You sigh and nod reluctantly, still hesitant. Although you knew Ambrose was very intelligent, you didn’t want to push him too far with the schoolwork. If Oberyn thought it was a good idea, though, you were more than willing to help out. 

“Excellent,” He says with a clap of his hands, an elated grin blossoming across his face. You can’t help but smile back, leaning to see the other papers he’s brought with him. 

You talk with him for over an hour, getting constant refills on the coffee and making small talk once the school stuff was out of the way. You learned a lot about him just in those few minutes. 

He liked tea much better than coffee, but he was a sucker for the kind of coffee that was more sugar than caffeine. He had at least 30 colorful suit tops that he swapped all the time, making sure to wear a new fun one for every occasion. You learned also that his favorite kind of flowers were sunflowers, fueling his adoration for the fall season. 

They were small things, sure, but you couldn’t help but relish the fact that you knew him now. You knew things about him, and you could now at least consider him a friend. 

You knew that the revelation that he was single was about to make your infatuation with the man so much worse… but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. 

You saw him again the following week, first thing in the morning, as usual. If you had to guess, you’d say he was a morning person. He almost seemed more upbeat when it was early, before the sun had fully come up and while the only sound was the melody of the birds chirping. You couldn’t say you blamed him. You enjoyed mornings, yourself. 

“I was thinking you could come to our house to tutor Ambrose, if that is alright with you,” Oberyn says, the scent of jasmine and something uniquely him piercing your nose. He fiddles with a trinket on your desk as he asks, avoiding eye contact.

His house? Like, his actual home? 

“I-I mean, sure, if that’s what works for you guys,” you say, “But the only time I would really be able to do that is Saturdays.” 

Oberyn finally looks up to you, his eyes crinkling with his smile. 

“That’s perfect. That’s the only time I am truly able to do it, either.” 

You give him a smile and clasp your hands together, glancing at the papers on your desk before flitting your gaze back up to his soulful eyes. 

“Is it— I, um, well,” you stutter, trying to find the right words. “I’m going to need your address.”

Oberyn flushes as his lips pull into an o shape, clearly having forgotten that you’ve never been to his home before. He pulls out his cellphone from his back pocket and taps it with his forefinger, facing it towards you. 

“I’ll just give you my number, so I can text it to you. It’ll be far easier to plug into a GPS that way,” he explains. You nod and pull out your own phone, swapping with him to type your information in. 

You put a dove emoji next to your name in his phone, smiling as you hand it back to him. A smile grows on his face as he inspects it, clearly noticing. He doesn’t say anything about it, though, sliding his phone back into the pocket of his trousers. 

“If I haven’t texted you by the end of the day, message me first, alright? I can be rather forgetful,” Oberyn says with a chuckle. You laugh as well, feeling your heart grow just a bit warmer. 

“Of course. Now go on, I know you’ve got a bunch of your fancy Principal duties to fulfill,” you tease. He rolls his eyes playfully and leaves the room with a wink and a wave, calling out a farewell as he exits. 

You sigh dreamily once he’s gone, unable to erase his face from your mind, his smile permanently ingrained in your memory. 

You are so fucked. 

——————

It took you awhile to find your way to the apartment. Despite the GPS and the instructions Oberyn had texted to you, you had become hopelessly lost. 

You raced up the stairs of the building, checking your watch. You didn’t need to hurry too much— you knew he would understand, and wouldn’t be upset. But you still didn’t want to be late and make a bad impression. 

You finally found his apartment number, hesitating only slightly before knocking at the door, slipping your phone back into your pocket. Oberyn is immediately opening the door, a relieved smile blossoming on his lips. 

“You’re here,” he sighs, “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to be able to make it.” 

Your eyes widen and you shake your head, pulling your coat tighter around you. 

“Sorry, I just got lost,” you admit a little sheepishly, looking down to your feet. He simply chuckles and stands aside, gesturing for you to come in. 

“I’m sorry if it’s a bit of a mess, I didn’t get a chance to clean before you arrived.”

The apartment was cozy, not too large and not too small. In the main room there was a sofa and a couple houseplants, dim lighting provided by a couple of oddly shaped lamps and a crackling fireplace. Blankets were strewn over the couch, adding color and a note of comfort to the room. On the walls were various paintings, all matching the deep green of the walls. 

He leads you into the kitchen, the next room over. The wooden floors were strewn with crayons and paper, Ambrose laying in the center of the floor and scribbling away at one of the pieces. Oberyn sighs and shakes his head, folding his arms. He turns his head to you, tutting. 

“Again, I apologize for the mess,” he says, sending a pointed look to Ambrose, who is too focused on his artwork to notice. 

The kitchen was just as cozy, the cabinets made of a rich, dark wood with long plants draping down from the top of them. The light in there was warm, too, casting a homey glow over everything. Pushed to the far left, where you had entered the room, there was a table, set up right underneath the window overlooking the town. The gauzy curtains were drawn shut so you couldn’t sneak a peek at the view, but you surmised it must be beautiful in the mornings. 

“Alright,” Oberyn says, crouching down to place a hand on Ambrose’s shoulder. Only then does the young boy seem to realize you’re there, beaming up at you and throwing his crayon down haphazardly. 

“Miss Dove!” He chirps, pushing past his father in order to give you a hug. You laugh and hug him back, not noticing Oberyn’s look of adoration towards you at the gesture. 

“Are you here to teach me math?” He asks, pulling away and going to stand back near Oberyn. You crouch down to his level and shake your head, tapping on the bag you brought with you. 

“Nah, tonight we’re gonna go over some grammar. Sound good?” You ask. He gives you a grin and nods, running over to the table. Oberyn smiles at you as you stand back up, running a hand through his messy hair.

Only now do you seem to notice that he has forgone his typical suit for a plain white tee shirt and black sweatpants, his arms flex ring as his hand runs through his locks. You gulp and avert your eyes, feeling yourself begin to heat up. 

“I will be doing some work in the other room if you need help with anything. I’ll come back in half an hour, okay?” He says, leaning to attempt to make eye contact with you. You look back up at him and give a smile, nodding.

“Yeah, of course.” 

You plop down in the chair beside Ambrose, pulling out all of the papers you would need for the mini-lesson. 

It doesn’t take long before Ambrose’s eyes begin to droop closed. You look towards the clock and see that it’s nearly 8pm, rather late for a 7 year old who just got home from soccer practice. 

You sigh and pat his shoulder, getting up to go find Oberyn. Ambrose slouches in his seat and places his hand on the table, snoozing quietly. 

You tiptoe silently into the living room, the sight making your cheeks flush. Oberyn has his legs spread and his glasses on, one hand balancing a glass of liquor on his knee and another holding a paper up to his face. He glances over the paper at you, raising his eyebrows.

“Is something the matter?” He asks softly, leaning to look behind you into the kitchen. You shake your head and smile, folding your arms. 

“He fell asleep. Thought you might want to get him to bed.” 

He lets out a puff of air, an amused look on his face as he gets up from his spot on the couch and walks into the kitchen. He chuckles when he sees his son zonked out on the table, snoring lightly. 

He swivels to face you, leaning to set his glass on the countertop. 

“I’ll be right back, let me take him to bed,” he whispers, his hand coming into contact with your upper arm. You shiver as he pulls it away, watching as he picks up the boy and carries him down the hallway, to what you assume is his room. 

You glance around the kitchen, now alone as Oberyn tucks him into bed. You notice a photograph on the wall, a younger looking Oberyn holding a baby, whom you assume to be Ambrose. He is alone in the picture, the photograph clearly taken by himself. 

You furrow your brows, wondering if he ever had a wife. You didn’t want to pry into his personal life, but it did intrigue you exactly what happened with Ambrose’s mother. You figured it was a touchy subject, though, or he might have brought it up before. 

You hear him pad back into the room, a slightly guilty expression on his face. 

“I apologize, I suppose I didn’t realize how tired he was,” he says with a cringe. You shake your head rapidly, laughing lightly. 

“It’s alright, really. The kid needs his sleep.” 

Oberyn hums in agreement and shuffles over to one of the cabinets, taking down a ceramic mug. He glances over his shoulder at you, his arm still resting above him on the cabinet door. 

“Would you like a cup of tea?” He asks gently, “it’s decaf.” 

You nod, grateful for the offer. He takes down another mismatched mug, shifting to open a different cabinet that seems to be full of herbs. 

You watch as he stirs the tea bags into the hot water, handing the piping hot mug to you with a smal smile on his face. 

It smells like him, like that jasmine tea he brings to school every day. You take a sip and smile, the heat rushing through your body. 

“If you’d like,” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear, “we could watch a movie. Or something. To make the visit worth your time.” 

You raise your eyebrows at the suggestion, a smile beginning to grow on your face. 

“Really?” 

“Sure,” he says with a shrug, trying to act nonchalant. His brain was practically begging you to say yes, to just stay for a little longer. 

“Well, then. I guess I’ll stay.” 

His joy at your agreement to stay and spend time with him was palpable, his entire face scrunching with his smile. He holds his mug with one hand and gently places the other on the small of your back, his barely-there touch guiding you back to the living room. 

He plops down on the couch, looking up at you expectantly. You hesitantly sit down next to him, leaning into the plush fabric. 

“Any ideas, or should we just randomly pick one?” Oberyn asks, picking up the remote and flicking the TV on. You shrug and scoot a little bit closer to him, just centimeters away from touching. You think you can hear his breath hitch when you get closer, but you brush it off as just your hopeful imagination. 

“I’ll watch anything, I’m not picky,” you say, relaxing into the couch as Oberyn flicks through your options. He pauses on one of the movies, his interest clearly piqued. 

“How does this one sound?” He asks, his elbow nudging your arm just slightly. You study the description and smile. It’s a lighthearted Halloween movie, meant to be slightly creepy but still fun. 

“Sounds perfect. And festive,” you add, suddenly aware of how cold the apartment is. He takes notice of your shiver, twisting to pull down one of the soft blankets from the back of the couch. 

It’s a deep orange color and it’s the softest fucking thing you’ve ever felt. He drapes it over the both of you, offering a sweet smile. 

“Better?” 

“Yeah,” you say, smiling gratefully. He mirrors it, a quiet moment passing. You’re so close to his face— you can feel his careful breath puff against your face, the subtle scent of jasmine washing over you. His eyes never falter from yours, his stare intense yet kind. 

He clears his throat and turns his head back to the TV, not giving you enough time to notice the way his cheeks flushed deep red at you being so close to him. He presses the start button on the movie and relaxes back into the couch, attempting to diffuse the strange energy in the room. 

You’re silent through the movie, although every few minutes he glances over to you. He doesn’t miss your droopy eyes and your tired yawns, and the way you’re snuggling into his blanket. He doesn’t say a word, though, redirecting his focus back to the movie. 

He’s startled when he feels a weight on his shoulder, looking down to realize that you’ve rested your head there. Your eyes are closed and your mouth is slightly ajar, steady breaths fanning out over his arm. 

His heart constricts at the sight, carefully moving to turn off the TV without waking you. He sits there for a moment in the dim light of the room, wondering what to do. He doesn’t want to wake you up, but he figures the couch isn’t the most comfortable place to sleep. 

He fluffs the throw pillows beside him and carefully gets up, holding your body and guiding you down to rest against the pillows. He pulls the blanket up over your shoulder and sighs, the smallest smile on his face. His heart warms at the sight of you snuggled up, fast asleep on his sofa. 

He quietly clicked off the lamps in the room, padding silently to his own room at the end of the hallway, casting one final glance back toward you before deciding he needs his own sleep. 

————

Your eyes groggily blink open, the morning light streaming through the window rousing you from your dreams. You sigh at the familiar scent of Oberyn against you, your mind still muddled about where you are. 

You look around the room and realize with horror that you must’ve fallen asleep on Oberyn’s couch last night during the movie. Oh god. 

You were mortified, letting out a groan of embarrassment when you realize what you’ve done. Oberyn hears your noise from the kitchen, poking his head through the doorway to gaze at you. 

He smiles at your groggy expression and your sleepy eyes, finding it incredibly endearing. 

“Goodmorning, sleepyhead,” he teases, retreating back into the kitchen to finish flipping one of the pancakes he has on the griddle. 

“Morning,” you call, still embarrassed but relieved that Oberyn didn’t seem upset at all. As a matter of fact, he seemed almost happy. 

You pad into the kitchen softly, the sweet smell of pancakes greeting you upon entering. Oberyn has that mindless smile on his face, the morning light hitting his side profile perfectly. He looks like he was sculpted by the gods, his nose perfectly curved and his lips just the right size. 

He quite literally takes your breath away. 

“Did you sleep well?” He asks, flicking his gaze over to you. You nod sleepily, leaning against the counter and watching him. 

“Yeah, your couch is surprisingly comfy.”

He chuckles and sets the spatula down on the counter, wiping his hands on a dish towel before reaching up to the cabinets and pulling out a new ceramic mug. He hands it to you and gestures to the coffee pot on the counter behind him.

“I’m glad to hear you slept well. Help yourself.”

“Thank you so much,” you say with an appreciative smile. You walk over to the coffee maker and pour yourself some, noticing Oberyn’s mug perched next to the machine. It’s yellow and round, an orange sun painted on it with squiggly rays. It represents him perfectly, you think, noticing the coffee inside. He practically drinks creamer with a shot in it, liking his drinks only when they’ve got enough sugar to feed an army. 

“I’m sorry for falling asleep here, by the way,” you mention, leaning back against the counter and taking a sip. Jeez, he makes good coffee. 

He glances over his shoulder at you, quirking a brow. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, Dove. I like having you here.” 

You shift your weight and look away as he flips yet another pancake, just as Ambrose walks into the kitchen. He looks just as tired as you do, yawning sleepily. 

“Daddy, why is Miss Dove here?” He asks, padding over to his Dad and tugging on his pant leg. 

“Miss Dove fell asleep, so she stayed here.” 

“Is she staying for breakfast?” He asks curiously, his wide eyes glancing over to you. 

“Yes, I do believe so.” 

“Yay!” Ambrose exclaims jubilantly, absolutely beaming at what you assumed he deemed good news. He walks over to you and grabs your hand, leading you to the table. 

“You’re gonna love Daddy’s pancakes, they’re so good! He makes the best food in the world!” He babbles, a smile crossing your face at his excitement. 

“Oh does he? You’re getting me excited to try them!” 

“You won’t have to wait too long,” Oberyn says, walking over with a plate stacked with the pancakes. On the table already is butter and syrup, along with set plates for all three of you. 

Oberyn slides in beside you, serving both you and Ambrose the food before taking some for himself. 

You sink into the pancakes, barely able to suppress your groan of delight. Ambrose wasn’t kidding around— these were the best fuckin’ pancakes you’ve ever tasted. 

“Wow,” you say after the first bite, glancing over to Oberyn. He looks caught off guard, a fork raised towards his face and his mouth stuffed full of pancake. He swallows quickly and gives you a sheepish smile, cocking his head. 

“What do you think?” 

“Ambrose was right, these are the best pancakes in the world.” 

He glows under your praise, his smile akin to the sun. You can practically feel the pride washing off of him in waves, his eyes twinkling. 

“Thank you,” he says simply, gently, the sound of his soft voice sending a pang through your heart. 

He hadn’t realized how screwed he was when it came to you until you’d fallen asleep on him, your little snores lighting up his heart. The way your hair was messy in the mornings, and your voice was a little scratchy. The way his son ran to greet you with a smile on his little face. 

He found himself wishing for it to be permanent, for it to be every day that he gets to see your groggy morning smile and see you pad across the kitchen. 

He hasn’t felt like this in a long time. He was terrified, yes; but with you, it didn’t feel all that bad.


	4. November

“Let me show you around the town. It’s overdue.” 

You tilt your head with a smile, fidgeting with the rim of your plastic coffee cup. 

“Are you sure? I’m positive you’ve got better things to do.”

Oberyn chuckles, a deep and melodic sound that sparks something in your chest. He brings up a gloved hand to run across his beard, tracing his jaw. 

“Nonsense. No better thing to do than give you an overdue welcome,” he insists, his signature smile adorning his face. 

“Well, thank you,” you say politely, falling into stride with him on the sidewalk. 

You had run into Oberyn trying to find the local bookstore, needing a new read for the weekend. You were clearly confused and lost, hence his kind offer for a mini tour of the town. 

He holds out his arm to you, his elbow crooked. You give him a surprised look before winding your arm with his, continuing your path pressed to his side. 

You can’t help the way your heart flutters at his warmth, a deep contrast to the snow crunching beneath your boots on the sidewalk. You hadn’t gotten much snow in the town, not yet, but there was a thin layer of it capping the rooftops and the aunings of the stores lining the streets. 

He pauses in front of a toy store, smiling apologetically when he turns to face you. 

“Is it alright if we go in for a moment? Ambrose’s birthday is coming up, I still need to pick out a gift,” he explains, looking a tad sheepish. 

“Oh, of course. I can even help you pick something out.” 

He smiles gratefully and guides you into the store, unlinking your arms so he can hold the door open for you. He walks in behind you, the warm air of the store soothing in contrast to the bitter winter chill of the outdoors. 

It was a small store, yes, but the shelves were crammed full of every toy a child could imagine, in every color. Building blocks, toy trucks and trains, dolls, they had it there. It was almost an overwhelming selection— you didn’t even know where to begin looking for a toy for Ambrose. 

You turn to Oberyn, who seems to be just as stumped as you are. His eyes flicker over the store, analyzing each shelf. His eyes finally find you, softening once they settle on your features. 

“What kind of toy do you think he would like?” You ask, turning back to the store. Oberyn tuts gently, shaking his head. 

“He likes all kinds of things, but this year he has requested an airplane toy.”

You hum and take his hand in yours, not fully thinking about the action before committing to it. You feel your cheeks heat up at the realization that you’re holding Oberyn’s hand, dragging him along in a tiny toy shop. 

He’s equally as petrified, grateful that you’re in front of him when he feels his cheeks flush a deep red. It feels natural, the way your hand fits perfectly in his, as though it was molded specifically to fit him. 

You drag him along to the toy trucks, planes and trains, half distracted by the way his gloved hand feels intertwined with yours. He doesn’t let it go when you come to a halt in front of the shelf, but you decide not to look too much into that. 

He hums as he examines the toys, his face still pinkish with embarrassment and nervousness. 

“What about,” he begins, reaching forward with his free hand to pull a large plastic airplane off the shelf, “this one?” 

You study it for a moment, determining whether it’s the best option. It’s built well, and even has the ability to open up the plane and put things on the inside. You nod excitedly. 

“Yeah, that one is perfect,” you say. Oberyn beams back at you, tucking the box under his arm. 

“Lovely. That didn’t take long at all,” he remarks, his thumb beginning to run comforting circles on the back of your hand as you begin strolling towards the checkout. He’s clearly dawdling, his pace slow as he attempts to savor the feeling of your hand in his. 

He reluctantly pulls his hand out of your grasp when you reach the checkout counter, placing the toy plane on the table and fishing his wallet out of his coat pocket to pay. 

Today he wore a long tan coat, a black turtleneck layered beneath it. Although it wasn’t his usual casual suit, it fit him well, the colors bringing out his beautiful brown eyes. 

Once he was done paying, he took the paper bag in one hand and reached for your hand once more, intertwining your hands mindlessly. He didn’t fully recognize his actions before he heard your squeak of embarrassment, quickly moving to retract his hand. 

“I apologize, I—“ 

“It’s ok,” you interject, hating the distance he puts between you when you exit the shop together. He doesn’t even make a move to link your arms again, walking half a foot away from you on the sidewalk. 

“The town, it has a variety of small shops. Most of them are located on this street,” he explains, gesturing up and down the street with his hands. You already knew that, having been here for a few months, but you didn’t say anything. It was cute to let him explain it. 

“There’s a large bookstore just down here. I assume that is the one you were looking for?” He asks, his eyes baring into you. 

“Yeah, it’s called Applewood, right?” 

“Mmhmm,” he confirms, adjusting his coat as he feels the winter wind begin to permeate his layers. 

You begin to feel the cold, too, regretting not wearing the heavy winter coat you had foolishly elected to leave at home. You wind your hands around yourself in a futile attempt to warm yourself up, feeling your teeth begin to chatter regardless. 

Oberyn takes notice of your movements, his brows furrowing together in endearing concern. He inches closer to you, placing a hand on the small of your back. 

“Dove, are you cold?” He asks, his voice laced with worry. You shake your head, clamping your jaw down to stop your teeth from chattering. 

“I-I’ll be fine.”

He lets out a humorless chuckle, drawing his hand back from you. You’re about to protest before you realize he’s shrugging his coat off of his shoulders, stopping in his tracks. 

You stop just in front of him, watching in confusion before he drapes his coat over your shoulders, smiling at your shocked face. 

“Oberyn, no—“ you begin to protest, quieting when he shushes you.

“I have a sweater, I will be fine,” he says firmly, watching as you slide your arms into his coat. You’re practically swimming in it, the sleeves hanging off of your hands. It brings a smile to his face, seeing you stand there in his clothes— he can’t help but imagine a future where this happens more often. 

“Thank you,” you murmur gratefully, subconsciously drifting closer to his until you’re nearly chest-to-chest. His eyes are heavy lidded and shining with adoration, momentarily caught up in the moment. He snaps out of it when the gelid wind begins to bite at his nose, moving to recommence your walk to the bookstore. 

It isn’t very far until you get there, your jaw dropping when you enter the large building. There are two floors, one of them only half a floor and visible from the entrance, a wooden railing lining the edge. The floors are made of a dark, rich wood, a luxurious carpet with tones of red spread out upon entry. 

The walls are shelved from door to door, every book imaginable stacked upon them. At the center of the large store, just before the second floor starts, there is a large chandelier, made with gold and diamonds. 

You audibly gasp, drawing a chuckle from Oberyn as he places his hand on your lower back. 

“Magnificent, is it not?” He remarks, his eyes twinkling. “I’d say my first reaction was very similar to yours.” 

You continue to look around in wonder, not noticing the way Oberyn is beaming down at you endearingly. You look like a kid in a candy store, awestruck by the shop— to him, it’s the cutest thing in the world. 

“Do you think they have the book I want?” You ask, peering up at him through your lashes. He shrugs and gestures over to the checkout desk, an intricately carved antique table with a register placed atop of it. A fancy vintage lamp is also placed on the desk, illuminating the space. 

“That’s Stacy. She has records of every book they carry— if there is something specific you’re looking for, I’d suggest speaking with her.” 

“Thank you. I’ll be right back,” you promise, scurrying away to find your book. He sighs dreamily and looks after you, lost in his own thoughts. 

He hadn’t been this enamored with someone since he had met Ambrose’s mother. In his youth, he had been what a lot of people considered a player, going from person to person without a care in the world. 

Even after his child’s mother had left them high and dry, he had his share of sleeping around. He promised himself then that he would never fall for somebody again— he found himself already breaking this promise, his heart longing for you in every spare moment. 

He was utterly enamored with you; he hadn’t known you for long, only over three months, but you were special. Something about you made his heart flutter— you made him feel like a teenager again. His heart would race when you made eye contact with him, every brush of your hands igniting a spark in his chest. He couldn’t seem to let you go. Not that he wanted to, anyway. 

He can only hope that you feel the same. 

“Obie?” crows a feminine voice behind him, his brows furrowing in confusion at the sound of it. He hadn’t heard that voice in— 

7 years. 

Shit. 

He turns around slowly, trying to hide his grimace. Much to his despair, standing before him is his ex, the mother of Ambrose. She has a large smile on her painted lips, clearly not remembering the terms they left off on. 

“Mildred. Do you need something?” He asked, his tone clipped and unamused. Her lips twist into a bratty pout as she bats her lashes up at him. 

“You know I prefer it when you call me Millie,” she whines. Oberyn fights the urge to roll his eyes, instead pressing his lips into a thin line.

“I recall asking if there’s something you needed from me? If not—“ 

“I just wanna catch up, Obie. See how your life is going,” she chirps, interrupting him mid sentence. 

“I’m not interested.” 

“Why not?” She challenges, raising one of her perfectly groomed brows. 

“Because I don’t wish to speak to you. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Oberyn says, his voice dripping venom as he turns on his heels and begins walking towards you, feeling a bit better once he hears your laugh. 

You’re still at the register, chatting and smiling with Stacy, a hardcover book in your hands. He places his hand gently on the small of your back, mirroring the smile you give when you look up at him. 

“Hey! I noticed you talking to someone over there. You must have a lot of friends in this town,” you remark, glancing over his shoulder at Millie. She’s standing in her spot, an annoyed expression on her features as she flips through something on her cellphone. 

“She is not someone I would ever consider a friend,” Oberyn replies. You don’t miss the hostility in his tone when he mentions her, his hand pulling you just a tad closer to him. You don’t argue or press the matter, instead only wondering internally what could have caused his animosity towards her. 

Once you check out and leave the store, Oberyn seems to visibly relax, his shoulders slumping and his hand falling away from your back. You briefly miss the warmth before his hand is intertwining with yours, this time not bothering to make an apology. 

“Who was that?” You ask, watching his physique tense once more. You feel bad for pressing it, but the curiosity got the better of you. 

“That,” he grits out, his grip on your hand awfully gentle in contrast to his tone, “was Ambrose’s mother.”

You can’t contain the gasp of surprise that leaves your lips, your eyes widening at the revelation. No wonder he seemed so reluctant to speak with her. 

Clearly they hadn’t ended on the best of terms, if his reaction to speaking with her was any indication. You wondered only briefly what had happened between them before shoving the thought out of your mind, refocusing your energy on comforting Oberyn. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” you breathe, squeezing his hand gently. His breath hitches at the motion, his kind eyes flickering to yours. 

“I know. Her being back in town, though… it makes me nervous,” he admits, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and worrying it. You sigh and nod in understanding, beginning to trace little patterns on the back of his hand. 

“I’m sure it’ll all be fine, right? She’s probably not even here for that long,” you offer. He sighs and leans into you a little more, continuing his path down the sidewalk.

“You’re right. I suppose I am most likely overthinking things.” 

He suddenly stops in his tracks on the sidewalk, turning to face you. 

“Do you live near here? Allow me to walk you home,” he offers. You shake your head rapidly, a small smile coming to your face. 

“It’s alright, really. Don’t you have to pick up Ambrose from practice soon?” 

“He’s staying over at his friends’ house tonight. I have nowhere to be.” 

“Well, if you insist…” you mumble, secretly grateful that he offered to take you back to your home. Any time that you could get with him, you would take. 

The walk was short and silent, only a little ways before you reach your apartment. You linger by the door, his hand still clutched tightly in yours.

“Do you, uhm… do you want to come in?” You ask meekly, avoiding eye contact with him. He smiles brightly and squeezes your hand, his grin infectious. 

“Sure,” he replies, trying to conceal his excitement as he gets into the elevator with you, watching as the floors tick by. 

You have to release his hand to open your door, wiggling the key in the lock before opening up to your small apartment. 

It feels like you, every decoration in line with your personality. Plants hang in pots from the ceiling and art posters are plastered on the wall, every design just gushing with you. 

The smell, too— the scent of honeysuckle and lavender permeated his senses as he stepped in, taking his gloves off slowly. It smelled how you always did. In a strange way, it brought him comfort, the warmth of the smell and the dim lighting of the apartment. 

He sticks his gloves in his pockets and turns to you, who is trying to wrestle out of his large coat. He chuckles lightly and grabs your shoulders from behind you, gently pulling the coat off of your frame and hanging it on the coat rack. You turn to him and smile, nodding your head towards the sofa. 

“You sit down— can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?” 

He shakes his head, making his way over to the plush couch. The color perfectly compliments the walls and the decor, fitting in nicely. 

“Just your company will do,” he remarks sweetly, his heart jumping when you settle next to him on the couch, the side of your body pressing into his. 

You spoke for hours on the sofa, about any and everything. It was easy to open up to Oberyn, to talk to him. He made you feel safe, appreciated, needed. 

He told you about his ex wife that night, the way she had left him shortly after giving birth to Ambrose. She had claimed she needed to ‘be free’, live her life without the obligation of a child. It broke him, tearing his life apart bit by bit. 

He cried softly when he told the story to you, failing to keep his calm composure. You held him for the first time, then, wrapping your arms around him and allowing him to sob into your shoulder, stroking his hair in comforting motions as he poured his soul into your hands with the utmost trust. 

He didn’t know why he was so comfortable at that moment. At any normal time, he would be embarrassed to cry in the presence of someone he cared for as deeply as you. But you… you were different, somehow. He knew you weren’t internally cringing at his display of emotion, knew you weren’t judging him. You held him and cooed words of comfort— you made him feel loved. 

Maybe you were the one, he thought, his head still buried in your shoulder far after his tears had dried. Maybe his pining wasn’t just him, maybe you cared for him the way he cared for you. 

He couldn’t find it in himself to feel embarrassed when he woke in your arms the next morning, on that very same sofa. He only felt his heart warm as he peered up at you, watching your sleepy expression as you dozed atop his chest. 

Maybe, he thought, you loved him too.


	5. December

Oberyn practically leaps out of his chair when he hears a knock on his office door, an involuntary smile crossing his face when it’s you behind the wooden barrier. 

“Hi,” you say breathlessly, clutching a stack of papers to your chest. He moves aside and lets you dump the papers on the table in the corner, watching as you shrug off your leather bag, as well. 

“You got everything?” He asks, inspecting the pile. You nod and turn to him, your face glowing with a sheen of sweat. Clearly you had run to get to his office on time. 

“Yeah, I collected them from all the teachers. Should be good,” you muse, fiddling with the hem of your long-sleeved shirt. 

“Wonderful,” he says, walking to his desk and tapping the top of it thoughtfully. “Thank you, for getting them. Ann has already taken her holiday vacation, and she usually gets them.” 

You hum and nod, a small smile spreading on your face at his thanks. 

The weather had gotten much colder, a constant blanket of snow covering the ground and a bitter chill lingering in the air. You didn’t mind much, you were inside for most of the day, anyways. 

What you really loved about the season was the decorations. You didn’t do much decorating in the apartment, but the school was decked head to toe in festive garlands and shades of red and green. You knew Oberyn must have something to do with the decor; he adored the winter season. 

His office, even, was decorated fully. A very small pine tree stood in the corner, lights draped from every branch, and cut out candy canes lined the walls next to Ambrose’s crayon drawings. 

“It’s no problem, really,” you say, leaning back against the desk and shooting him a small smile. He sighs and plops into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Do you remember me telling you about Ambrose’s mother?”

You bite your lip and nod, your arms crossed in front of your chest. He looks up to you, his eyes glazed with unshed tears. 

“She, um… she wants to see him. For the holidays,” he croaks, a thoughtful hand running along his jaw. “Wants to try and be a family again.” 

Your blood runs cold at the revelation, your mouth hanging open just slightly. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was something he wanted with her, to be a family. He had told you before that Ambrose deserved another parent. 

“Oh,” you breathe out. Oberyn’s gaze drifts down to your neck before his eyes close completely, another heavy sigh escaping his throat. 

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t want her anywhere near him,” he admits. You feel a bit of a weight drop off your shoulders, your heart beginning it’s normal beats once more. It might have been selfish of you, but you didn’t want him to return to her. You wanted him to go to you. 

“I mean,” you start, trying to come up with some way to help him, “is there anything that you know would make her back off?” 

He shakes his head in defeat, one hand coming up to comb through his hair nervously. 

“I don’t know. A restraining order, probably,” he groans. You flinch a little, knowing he probably doesn’t want to have to go through that whole process. 

“You could pretend I’m your girlfriend,” you blurt, his head snapping up to you at your words. You feel your cheeks heat up as you realize what you just said, turning your head to avoid his gaze. 

“That… that actually might work,” he says, sounding rather impressed. You let your gaze land on him, his eyebrows raised and his jaw working back and forth. 

“Really? I kind of just— I don’t know what I was thinking,” you begin to ramble, quickly cut off by Oberyn’s dismissive hand gesture. 

“No, it’s a good idea. If you’d be willing to play along, of course.” 

“I would,” you say, perhaps a bit too quickly. He smiles, although it looks dimmer than it used to. It’s clear that this situation has been weighing on him quite a bit. 

“Come over for the holidays, then,” he offers, standing up from his chair and making his way over to stand next to you. Your eyebrows shoot up, an astonished look crossing your features. 

“Really? Won’t your whole family be there?” 

He chuckles and leans against the table directly beside you, meeting your eyes with a mischievous twinkle visible in them. 

“Yes, they will. Don’t fret too much about that. They will love you, my Dove.” 

You and Oberyn continued your plan, working out a way to explain to Mildred that you were together. Although it was fake, you knew it was fake, you couldn’t help but yearn for it to be more. That night that he fell asleep on you, entangled in your arms, you realized you love him. At first you were hesitant to call it that, unsure whether or not your feelings were that strong, but feeling his warm body on yours and hearing his soft snores as he slept, you knew. You knew, without a doubt, he had burrowed his way into your heart, and that wasn’t changing anytime soon. 

The plan was to meet her at a café, at her request. She had wanted to just speak to Oberyn, about God knows what. She wasn’t expecting you to be there, your hand intertwined with his as you walked in the door.

It was the same café Oberyn had taken you to a few months prior, to discuss Ambrose’s tutoring lessons. It almost felt cozier during the winter, fairy lights strung up across the brick walls and the scent of freshly ground coffee beans permeating your nose. 

You spotted her immediately, her brown hair curled perfectly and her perfectly manicured nails clicking as she types something on her cellphone. 

You had to admit she was gorgeous. As much as a terrible person she was, and as much as she had put Oberyn through, there was no denying her beauty.

It made you feel almost intimidated, the way her eyelashes bat upwards as she zeros in on Oberyn. Her gaze immediately flickers over to you, her thin lips pressing into an even thinner line. 

Oberyn puts on his best fake smile as you approach the table, pulling his hand away from yours in favor of placing it on the small of your back. 

“Who’s this?” Millie asks, not making any attempt to disguise the malice in her voice towards you. 

“This,” he says, looking down at you with a twinkle in his eye, “is my girlfriend. Figured she would like to meet the biological mother of our child.” 

You have to struggle to keep your cool at his words, your heart doing somersaults when he called you his girlfriend. You know your cheeks are dusted with pink as you slide into the booth, offering Millie a kind smile. She doesn’t return it, instead shooting Oberyn an annoyed expression. 

“I didn’t realize we would have company,” she says flatly, crossing her arms. A smile stays on his face as he pulls you closer to him, his hand around your waist. 

“I didn’t suppose it wouldn’t be an issue,” he counters. She sighs and gives a dramatic eye roll, picking up her coffee cup to take a sip. 

“Well, I wanted to talk about seeing the kid for the holidays.” 

“Ambrose.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” she dismisses. “Anyway, I was hoping we could all spend it together. You know, like we used to.” 

Her voice is coated in sugar as she leans forward, pushing her cleavage up with her arms as she leans towards him. Oberyn shakes his head and gestures his head to you. 

“I’m spending the holiday with my family, and Ambrose is a part of that. You are not.” 

She scoffs and leans back in her seat, batting her lashes at him coquettishly. You have to refrain from rolling your eyes at her obvious flirting. 

“But Obie,” she purrs, her lips twisting into a pouty face, “It’s been so long. I miss you.” 

He sighs and shakes his head, still unaffected. 

“I’ve said I would rather not, Mildred—“

“Millie.”

“Millie,” he sneers, his venomous tone surprising you. You had never seen him get so… upset. 

“I do not want you near my child. I do not want you interfering with my family. I do not. Want. You,” he says firmly, standing up suddenly and keeping his hand wrapped firmly around your waist.

“You’re just going to leave me behind? Pretend we never had anything?” She spits, her sugar-coated act clearly long forgotten. His eyes narrow at her words, pushing you behind him subtly. 

“You did that first,” he seethes, not waiting another moment before seizing your hand and dragging you out of the café. 

You’re still slightly stunned by the interaction, never having seen Oberyn so genuinely angry. It was almost scary, how easily he could switch between the kind and soft man you loved and the angered man you’d seen in the café. 

Once you were a ways from the cafè, nearly at his apartment, he slowed his pace, a sigh falling from his lips. He stops in his tracks and directs his gaze to you, his demeanor softening. 

“I apologize for subjecting you to that,” he murmurs, bringing your intertwined hands to his lips and pressing a tender kiss to them. It makes your heart leap, and you find yourself subconsciously leaning in closer to him. 

“It’s okay,” you say gently, reaching up with your free hand to brush a strand of hair from his eyes, “I’m proud of you for telling her off.” 

He sighs and nuzzles his face into your hand, savoring the warmth of your touch. Every brush of your fingers seems to ignite a spark in his heart, every word you speak only kindling for the roaring fire you’ve started there. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this deeply infatuated with someone, if ever. 

He didn’t want to tell you. It would risk too much, if you rejected him. He couldn’t lose you, couldn’t let you walk out of his life. So he was content to keep his secret, silently pining for you and only hoping that you might feel the same. 

…

“You ready for the break?” He asks, leaning against the desk in your classroom. You sigh and nod, shooting him a little smile. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I love teaching, but… I’m exhausted,” you admit, earning a slightly sympathetic look from Oberyn. 

“Yes, I would have to agree. I’m rather looking forward to the time away,” he muses, running a gloved hand through his messy hair. 

“About coming over, for Christmas,” he begins, taking a steady inhale. “I know it was only mentioned because of Millie, and she’s gone now, but… I would really like to have you over anyway.” 

You look up to him, slightly surprised at the admission. You hadn’t really expected to be invited over after you had successfully helped him get rid of his ex-girlfriend. 

“Are you sure?” You ask cautiously, packing up the last of your classroom belongings before standing up. Oberyn’s smile is warm and comforting as he nods, fidgeting slightly with his scarf. 

“Yes, I am. I think Ambrose would love to have you there.” 

“And the rest of your family?” 

“They will love you as much as— they will love you,” he corrects with a cough, hoping you didn’t recognize his slip of words. If you do notice, you don’t show it, only giving him a giddy smile in return. 

“Well, I’d be delighted.” 

He’s absolutely beaming at your response, his face lighting up in joy. 

“Lovely. Come over Christmas Eve— you can spend the night,” he instructs, shooting you a wink. You nod and sling your bag over your shoulder, following him to the door of the classroom. He opens it for you and allows you to step out first, catching up to walk with you side-by-side and escort you out of the school. 

He was nervous that day, waking up to his son pouncing on the bed and excitedly yelling ‘It’s Christmas Eve Daddy, you have to wake up!’. It was hard enough trying to impress and entertain his family, and on top of it all, he had to woo you. 

The apartment was already decorated, had been since the beginning of the month. Ambrose always helped him decorate the tree, stringing ornaments and lights across the green branches and even helping perch the star on top. There was garland, ribbon and lights strewn about, christmas-themed throw pillows fluffed on the couch and the fireplace crackling steadily. 

He heard a knock on the door at around 3, his heart rate picking up at the sound. He didn’t know if it was a good idea to have you over, but he wanted to, anyway. You didn’t have a family to spend the holiday with; the best thing he could do was try and give you a happy Christmas. 

You looked around in awe as you entered, bundled up in your red sweater. Oberyn looked like a nervous puppy, his eyes wide and his hands stuck in the pockets of his flannel pajama pants. 

Ambrose ambushes you at the door, racing towards you and latching into your legs. 

“Miss Dove!” He cries, squeezing your legs in a hug. You chuckle and bend down to his height, giving him a proper hug. 

“How have you been? Having fun now that you’re free from school for a while?” 

He grins and pulls back, nodding enthusiastically. 

“Yup! Daddy and I get to play wayyy more often,” he explains, looking up to Oberyn with a grin. You can’t help the smile on your face at the thought of Oberyn spending his time playing with Ambrose, jetting around plastic planes and fighting with little action figures. 

You stand up to greet Oberyn, reeling in shock when he presses a kiss to your cheek. He doesn’t fully register the motion until he’s pulled back, studying your rapidly redinning face. He feels his cheeks grow pink as well, clearing his throat and putting on a smile in a poor attempt to alleviate the awkwardness. 

“I still have to prepare some food for dinner,” he says, jutting his thumb behind him towards the kitchen, “you can make yourself at home while I do that.” 

“Let me help you,” you offer instead. Oberyn’s shoulders slump in relief, glad he can be spending some time with you. 

He guides you to the kitchen, although you know where it is. You’ve been over plenty of times, sitting at the kitchen table and teaching Ambrose advanced concepts. Oberyn would always watch with a little smile on his face, admiring how well you seemed to get along with his son. 

“There’s not much you can help with,” he admits sheepishly, heading over to the counter to finish seasoning the ham, “but I must say that I enjoy the company.” 

“Then company I shall be,” you say, studying his steady hands as he resumes prepping the meal. You shift a little as you watch his hands flex, his veins becoming more visible as he does so. 

“Would you like a drink? I’ve got plenty,” he offers, sticking the ham in the oven and walking over to wash his hands. 

“Sure. I’ll have whatever you suggest.” 

He hums and pulls out three large mugs from his cabinet. You wonder how many he has in there; it seems that every time you come over, he offers you a new one. He must collect them. 

“How does hot chocolate sound?” 

“Lovely,” you chirp, moving to stand beside him as he preps all three cups of hot cocoa, dropping exactly five mini marshmallows into each cup and handing one of them to you. 

“Ambrose!” He calls, the child immediately racing into the kitchen and nearly tripping as he spots the hot cocoa. 

“Is Miss Dove gonna watch the movie with us?” Ambrose asks excitedly, cradling the far too large mug in his hands. Oberyn takes a sip from his own cup and glances to you, trying to hide his smile behind his cup. 

“She sure is. Let’s go get cozy on the couch, hm?” He says, lowering his mug from his lips and placing his free hand on your lower back. As of late it seemed his hand was always on the small of your back or your waist when you were around him, an action you weren’t fully convinced was conscious. 

Ambrose hugs a large rabbit plushy to his chest and settles on Oberyn’s lap, his wide, twinkling eyes staring up to the TV as the movie begins playing. You’re curled up next to him, your head resting on Oberyn’s shoulder and his hand wound fully around your waist. 

It feels right, next to them, watching Christmas movies and drinking hot chocolate while cuddled in the fuzziest blankets imaginable. You hadn’t felt this content in years, ignoring the movie in favor of listening to the beat of Oberyn’s heart beneath your ear. 

He, on the other hand, was thinking of the future. He wished every holiday could be like this, cuddles on the couch and the warmth of your body pressed into his. 

Ambrose fell asleep on Oberyn’s laugh, drawing the softest of laughs from his throat. His eyes flicker to you as he hoists Ambrose up with his strong arms, carrying him back to his room to tuck him in. 

He comes back with a tender smile on his face, the hazy glow of the Christmas lights illuminating his face perfectly. He offers his hand to you silently, pulling you up off the couch and leading you to an area of the house you’ve never seen before. 

You only have to look around the room for a moment to realize it’s his bedroom. It smells like him, like rich wine and nutmeg and jasmine, and the deep oranges and yellows of the room suit him perfectly. You spin around to face him in the doorway, a quizzical expression painting your face. 

“Why—“

“I wanted you to sleep here, just for the night,” he explains hurriedly, shifting his weight from side to side. “The couch is awfully uncomfortable. I felt bad you fell asleep there last time.” 

“Well, that would mean you have to sleep on the uncomfortable couch,” you argue. He sighs and leans against the doorframe, shaking his head. 

“Then what do you propose we do?” 

“We could share it,” you blurt out, taking note of the smug smile that crosses Oberyn’s face at the suggestion. 

Internally, though, his heart is doing backflips. He’d fallen asleep in your arms before, but never did he think he would get that chance again. But here you were, standing in his room, asking to sleep in his bed beside him. 

There was no other option but yes. 

He climbs under the sheets with you, awkward at first. His back is turned to yours, only brushing against you when you accidentally get too close. Eventually, though, he drops into sleep, dreaming of a future where you sleep beside him every night. 

When he wakes up, however, he’s taken aback at the position he’s found himself in. You’re nestled in his arms, facing him with your head tucked into his shoulder. His arms are wrapped around you gently, and yours around him. It’s like you were giving him a hug in your sleep. 

And then his eyes drift over to the reason he’s awake, his son standing in the doorway with an ecstatic grin on his small face. 

“Daddy, wake up!” He shouts, pouncing on the bed. Oberyn flinches when he hears you groan into his chest, your grip around his torso tightening as you bury your head deeper into him. 

Only then does Ambrose seem to notice you, his head snapping down to inspect you two. His eyes widen and he looks at his father, opening his mouth to say something before Oberyn gives him a look of warning and makes a hush motion with his hand. 

Ambrose seems to understand, instead opting to start shaking the both of you in hopes that you’ll wake up. 

“Come onnnnn! Santa brought presents!” He exclaims. You finally remove your head from Oberyn’s chest, drawing back slightly with a hazy and confused look on your face. Your eyes flit over Oberyn before looking to Ambrose, realization clearly beginning to dawn on you. 

“Merry Christmas, buddy,” you say with a yawn, fully rolling out of Oberyn’s arms and stretching your hands over your head. He immediately feels the loss of your warmth like an aching cavern in his chest, his hands itching to pull you back closer to him. 

The two of you get up and pad sleepily to the living room, the sun not even fully in the sky yet. You throw open the curtains and smile, turning back to look at Oberyn and Ambrose. They’re both sitting on the couch, Oberyn merely observing while his son tears into presents that were left under the tree. 

His family comes later. Only a few of them; his mother, father, grandmother, and one of his brothers, Doran. They’re all extremely friendly, similar to how Oberyn was when you first met him. It’s clear the kindness and warmth is something that runs in the family, his mother immediately pulling you into a welcoming embrace upon her arrival. Some of them became a little too friendly, though. 

While Oberyn was helping his mother in the kitchen, chopping up a cheese board to put out for snacks, Doran corners you on the couch, plopping right down beside you. 

“So. Are you a friend of my brother?” He asks, his voice carrying the same rich accent that Oberyn’s does. His voice is much different, though, a darker and deeper tone there. It isn’t as warm. 

You force a smile and fiddle with the hem of your knit sweater, nodding silently. 

“‘Spose you could say that.” 

“Nothing more?” 

You’re taken aback slightly by the question, stuttering and attempting to come up with the best answer you can. 

It’s as if Oberyn could sense your discomfort from the other room, appearing beside you in a seemingly sudden movement and placing a steady hand on your shoulder. 

“Have i introduced you to my girlfriend, brother?” He asks, rubbing small circles into your shoulder with his thumb. He must have heard your conversation, coming up with the girlfriend excuse to save you from the unwanted advances surely about to come your way. 

Doran’s eyebrow quirks upward, a cocky smirk on his lips. He doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but he leaves it alone in the moment, redirecting his attention to converse with his father. Oberyn’s gaze flickers down to you, and he crouched to be level with you. 

“I apologize for him,” he says sympathetically, “he’s always been quite the flirt.” 

“It’s okay, really. But thank you,” you say, your voice dropping to a whisper towards the end. He offers you a tender smile, patting your shoulder before starting up another conversation with his family. 

It’s later into the day when you’re both cleaning up the kitchen, preparing dinner beside one another and giggling over the smallest things. You were just a tad bit tipsy, but he was, too. 

It was when you left the kitchen that the problem arose. Oberyn’s mom wolf whistled and pointed upwards to the mistletoe that you and Oberyn had both conveniently ended up under. Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, not remembering the sprig of mistletoe being hung up just an hour ago. 

That’s when you look to Doran, a smug smile on his face as he observes the two of you. When you turn to Oberyn, his cheeks are glowing red, his eyes frantically pleading with his mother to not make him do it. 

“It’s… it’s okay,” you assure him quietly, trying to get him to focus less on the chants from his family of kiss, kiss, kiss, and more on you. He breathes out a little bit, shaking his head. 

“Are you sure?” He asks nervously, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. Your breath stalls in your throat at the gesture, your heart speeding up. 

“Yes,” you choke out breathlessly, closing your eyes as his face gets closer to yours. The cheering as his lips meet yours is drowned out, your mind unable to focus on anything except the way his plush lips are moving against yours, the hairs of his mustache tickling your upper lip. 

He kept it chaste, but he lingered against you for far longer than he had to, trying to savor the taste of you, the way you felt pressed against his lips. He desperately wanted to tell you he loved you, to make it real, to be able to kiss you like this whenever he wanted, every single day. He wanted a forever with you, wanted his family to cheer while he kissed you every year and be able to have you pressed to his chest like this. To laugh next to you while his son opened presents, to curl up at night and have you snuggle into him like you did before. 

He wanted the world with you, and as he pulled away, he realized that maybe it was possible you wanted that with him, too. Your starry eyes and your parted lips, the way you were looking at him like he put the stars in the sky. 

Maybe it would be okay.


	6. January

You hadn’t talked about what happened that night, when you kissed in the doorway of his home, his entire family watching as his lips pressed to yours. You still daydreamed of the feeling, the way your stomach did backflips the moment you felt him against you. You knew it probably wouldn’t happen again, but you hadn’t missed the joyful twinkle in his eye when you’d finally pulled away, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

He made no move to acknowledge it, however, things falling back into a familiar rhythm. There was no awkwardness lingering between the two of you, thank god, but you still felt that something was… off. You couldn’t place it, but you knew, without a doubt, that something had changed. 

It was still bitterly, horrendously cold, and now you had to deal with being at school all day in addition. The only bright side was that the classrooms were heated relatively well, and there was never much of an issue getting them to keep the radiators running. Your apartment, on the other hand, was very different. 

The heat had been flickering on and off for a while, much to your dismay. You had been preparing for it to go out fully for a while now, hoarding blankets and such, but you knew realistically you’d just have to stay in a hotel room for a while if it actually went out. You didn’t have much more of a choice. 

And, of course, you woke up one morning and the heating was completely out. Your apartment already felt practically like a freezer, and you struggled to even get ready for the day. It was relieving to finally enter the main office and get the burst of warm air in your face, sighing and leaning against the wall. 

“You look like you just left a blizzard,” a familiar accented voice calls, looking up as Oberyn strolls towards you, his eyebrows raised. You laugh drily and shake your head, sticking your still-freezing hands in the pockets of your coat. 

“Yeah, the heating at my apartment went out,” you explain, watching as Oberyn’s look of softness quickly morphs to concern. 

“Do you have somewhere to stay?” 

“Ah, not yet. I’ll find somewhere, though.” 

He only takes a moment of pause before blurting out his words without thinking.

“Stay with me.” 

You raise your eyebrows at him. You aren’t mad at the offer; hell, you were ecstatic. It was just… surprising. 

“Really? It could be a week or more before the repair guys fix it.” 

Oberyn nods, his hands reaching out and pulling yours from your pockets. He holds them in his own and rubs them gently, tsking. 

“Of course. We can’t have these hands freezing off, now can we? You feel like an ice cube.” 

You giggle and relish the warmth of his hands and the way his fingers trace patterns over your palms, leaning into him only slightly.

Oberyn was a lot of things, but he was not a liar. When you arrived at his apartment, small bag in hand, he had nothing but smiles and grins to offer you. You were worried that he hadn’t meant it when he said it would be a pleasure to have you over, but so far, it seems he was entirely honest. 

One of the things that surprised you about Oberyn was his ability to cook. When you spent the holiday with him, you got a taste of his talents, the dinner he’d prepared near restaurant quality. 

“Where did you learn to cook?” You ask, sipping wine from a glass and leaning against the counter. He stirs the dish without looking up, concentrating fully on making the pasta sauce. 

“My mother taught me from a young age. I would spend hours in the kitchen with her, simply observing,” he says, raising the spoon to his lips and taking a small taste of the sauce. He beckons you over, pulling you in front of him and offering the spoon to you.

“How is it?” He purrs in your ear, his hand coming down to rest on your waist. Your back is flush with his chest as you taste the sauce, making a noise of contentment. 

“It’s.. fuck, it’s really good,” you say with a chuckle, craning your neck to look back at him. He grins and reaches around you to place the spoon back in the pot, his head coming down to rest on top of yours. 

It feels natural, the way his arms snake around your waist to pull you closer to him. You can feel his lips ghost across the shell of your ear, his body beginning to sway along to the soft hum of music that has been filtering from the radio. 

He uses his hands to swivel your body around, quickly placing one on the small of your back and pushing you to be flush to him. 

“Dance with me, my Dove,” he murmurs, his lips brushing sensually across your forehead. You gulp and wind your arms around his neck, basking in the way his skin feels on yours. He hums gently along to the music and sways with you in his arms, padding around the kitchen. 

He grabs your hand and pulls you out for a twirl, his rich laugh surrounding you as he guides you back to his chest. 

You’ve been teetering on the line between friends and lovers for weeks since the kiss— he didn’t know how to even begin his confessions to you, wondering if you even felt the same or if you were just too kind to say no. 

He did know, however, that friends didn’t slow dance in the kitchen, friends didn’t sleep in the same bed and wake up entangled in each other’s embrace. No, he knew there was something there. It was unprofessional, and confusing, sometimes, but he felt the spark growing between the two of you. As much as he hoped, prayed that it wasn’t just him, he didn’t want to think too hopefully. 

But damn. All he wanted to do in that moment was lean down and kiss you senseless, to mutter the words he’d been hiding for months, to hand you his heart on a platter and pray for the best. 

Although your plush lips looked incredibly tempting, he refrained. The best he could do, for now, was look at you in adoration, hoping you’d pick up his hints one day and flash him one back. Just one sign, and he would go all in for you. 

You slept beside him in his bed that night. The moment you fell asleep, it seemed your body went to find his, your arms curling around him and your head nuzzling into his chest. You looked so peaceful, your hair falling slightly in your eyes and your soft breaths puffing across his neck. 

Friends definitely didn’t cuddle in their sleep, he mused. Maybe it was just your subconscious, though, wanting to be warmer. Yes, that was it. You were simply seeking out body heat— it could’ve been anyone next to you. 

When you awoke in the morning, though, you were still entwined together in a mess of limbs. You could hardly tell where you ended and he began. And frankly, you didn’t mind too much. 

He looked years younger in his sleep, the lines on his face smoothed with the serenity of rest. You brought your hand up to trace his face softly, Oberyn making a small grunt of acknowledgment at the movement and letting his eyes drop closed once more. 

You ran your fingers along his beautifully curved nose, his cheeks, beneath his eyes. He looked almost how you’d imagine a god, his chiseled features like carvings of stone under your touch. He belonged in a museum, a painting, a song. He was art. 

It was in the kitchen later that morning that you were scanning over the drawings on the refrigerator, a mug of tea in your hands and a small smile adorning your lips. Oberyn hung each and every work of art Ambrose had done over the years, a proud grin tugging at his lips each time you brought it up. 

Your gaze focused on one in the middle of the fridge, pinned up with a magnet. One of the people in the drawing was Oberyn, obviously, his mustache being a dead giveaway. To the right of him was Ambrose, much shorter than Oberyn and wearing a bright pink shirt. But there was another character, standing right beside him. 

Each character was labeled— Oberyn being ‘Daddy’, Ambrose being ‘Me’, and the female character being ‘Mommy’. You squint in confusion, studying the female one. She didn’t look like Ambrose’s mother in the slightest. And besides, he hadn’t seen the woman since he was only months old; there was no possible way he knew what she looked like. Now that you were looking properly, the character kind of looked like…

Oh. 

Oh. 

The character looked like you. 

Oberyn enters the room just as you realize, your mouth dropping open. He quickly recognizes the source of your surprise when he follows your gaze to the drawing, his eyes widening in shock. 

He hadn’t meant for you to see that. After the kiss under the mistletoe, and finding you cozied up in bed with his father, Ambrose had come to the conclusion that you were his new mommy. Oberyn had no idea how to burst the poor child’s bubble, instead simply allowing him to live in the fantasy. Oberyn had to admit that if he could, he’d do the same. He would give anything for you to be a part of his family, for you to be his son’s mother. 

“I apologize… kids, you know,” he tries to explain, panicking when he sees the way your eyes are glazed over. He takes your hands gently in his, brows furrowed deeply in concern. 

“I really am sorry. I can have a talk with him, if you’d like—“ 

You interrupt him by shaking your head, pulling one hand away from his and using it to wipe at your dampened eyes. 

“No, no, it’s okay. It’s just,” you sniffle, trying to find the right words, “it’s just really sweet.” 

Oberyn visibly relaxes when he realizes you aren’t upset, sighing and squeezing your hand. 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he murmurs, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

Maybe one day that dream would come true, the image of you and him and his child, a happy family. He couldn’t stop his own smile at the thought, in love with the idea of you being his forever… In love with you.


	7. February

“Easy, easy,” he murmurs, his chest pressed to your back and his hands holding yours. 

You had never been ice skating before, but when Oberyn suggested it as a fun activity, you couldn’t help but say yes. You might have left out the tiny detail that you have no clue how to ice skate and would most likely fall on your ass every two seconds. 

He didn’t seem to mind. Thusfar he’s been ridiculously patient with you, cooing words of encouragement in your ear and helping you glide across the ice, his hands keeping your body steady. 

“You’re practically a natural,” he remarks, his right hand squeezing yours gently. You turn your head back to face him, snorting at his words. 

“Yeah, right. You’ve had to hold me up this entire time.”

“Practice makes perfect, my Dove,” he assures you, his skates gliding gracefully over the rink. You sigh and continue to move your legs, beginning to be able to move without slipping. 

“It’s not like I practice ice skating all the time,” you retort, slipping momentarily and grappling at Oberyn’s arm. His hand slips from yours and winds around your waist, hauling you back up to his chest. 

“I would be more than happy to take you again,” he offers quietly, once you’re situated and steady in his arms. You feel your face flush and are suddenly grateful that you’re facing away from him, not wanting him to see the physical evidence of your embarrassment. 

“Really?”

“Of course. It’s very entertaining to see you slip like a baby penguin,” he teases. You gasp and swat at his arm, a deep, throaty laugh rumbling from his chest. 

“I am nothing like a baby penguin,” you argue, turning your head to face him. His lips are curved in a smile and he shakes his head, his eyes crinkled just slightly. 

“Baby penguins are cute.” 

You feel his heart pound against your back, his hands still holding your waist steadily. You smile a little and turn back to look out across the rink. 

“Thanks.” 

Things with Oberyn had been going about as steadily as they could be, considering the circumstances. Although, you were about ready to give up on a relationship with him— if he was remotely interested, he would have at least given you a hint, right? 

Maybe he was just like this with all the girls he met. He was probably just a nice guy, the kind that doesn’t quite know the difference between flirting and being a good person. He was always kind to people, more so than you know anybody else to be. That was probably it. 

Still, you couldn’t help but harp upon the little ways he looks at you, the way his eyes twinkle and his smile quirks up each time you look towards him. His hands are so gentle when he lays them upon you, his embrace warm and full of comfort. 

“Oberyn?” You asked one day, his steps falling into tandem beside you on the icy trail. His breath escapes his lips in puffs of air, the chill turning them white. 

“Yes, my Dove?” 

You hesitate for a moment, letting out a bit of a shaky breath. 

“Can I come over tonight?”

He hums and gives a little smile, confusion hidden behind his eyes. 

“Of course. Any particular reason?” He asks, probing you for information. You normally would just show up at a time he was home, but this was serious. You needed his full attention.

“I… I mean, yes. I wanted to just… talk, with you. I guess,” you stutter out, floundering for words. You were already nervous and it wasn’t even time to tell him yet. How were you going to get it out when it really was time?

It had been far too long, dancing circles around each other and never saying a word. You and Oberyn had crossed the line of ‘just being friends’ long ago, too long. It was nearly the end of February, 7 long months of avoiding the feelings that had been rapidly growing in your heart. You could only hope the same flame festered in his own chest, consuming him the way it did to you. 

His brows were furrowed when he looked back to you, a vague look of concern pinching his features together. 

“Is something wrong? If it is, I’d rather you just—“ 

“Nothings wrong,” you interrupt quickly, trampling over his words. He closes his mouth and nods, his face not relaxing. 

He couldn’t think of a single thing you’d tell him that would be good news, not with the way you were acting. Had you gotten a job somewhere else, at some better school? God, he wasn’t prepared for his. He didn’t know if he ever would be.

You didn’t know if you’d ever be ready, either. You stood in front of the mirror tidying yourself, trying to look nice. You had worn a dress he made an offhand comment about, murmuring that he thought it looked lovely on you. You hadn’t forgotten. 

Resting on your sternum was the tiny silver dove necklace. He’d given it to you on Christmas night, approaching you once his family was gone, after the kiss beneath the mistletoe. His voice was tender and gentle as he had latched the necklace around your neck, murmuring softly how lovely it looked on you. You had nearly cried when he gave it to you, him telling you it was in case you were ever to forget him. You doubt you ever could. 

The walk wasn’t long, but it felt longer than it should be. Your heart was nearly pounding out of your chest as you rode up the elevator, watching as the numbers clicked by and you came closer to having to admit your feelings. 

You could just spit it out, say you love him. It wouldn’t be that hard, just quick and simple I love you. You’d nearly blurted it out a million times already, what would stop you this time? 

Oberyn had forgotten you were coming over tonight. It wasn’t an opportune time for you to be there, for any company to be there. Millie had stopped by, despite the warnings months ago he had given her. 

He found himself wishing he had moved out of the apartment once they’d broken up, but he hadn’t thought ahead to her trying to wedge herself back into his life, into the life of his son. She had come to the door unannounced, shoving her way in and insisting on speaking with him. 

“I already told you I have a girlfriend,” he growls, his arms folded defensively over his chest. He was incredibly relieved that Ambrose was off at sports practice— he didn’t know what he would’ve done if Millie showed up while he was home. 

“Oh yeah? Where is she?” Millie asks, batting her false lashes. She looks mockingly through the open door of his bedroom, putting on a fake pouty face. 

“What, she doesn’t live here?” She asks. Her tone carried an air of false innocence; Oberyn had to fight to not roll his eyes in front of her. 

“She took Ambrose to practice today,” he fibs, watching as Millie’s face turns down in a scowl. She paces over to the kitchen and clicks her tongue when her eyes pass over the refrigerator, immediately spotting the drawing Ambrose had made. 

“He thinks she’s his mom?” She asks drily. Oberyn sighs, an annoyed expression set on his face. 

“She is more of a mother than you ever were,” he snarls. She looks at him pointedly before her features soften. She heads back out to the living room and sighs wistfully, Oberyn following her closely. 

“I made so many mistakes when I was young,” she laments, turning to him and scooting a bit closer. “So many… I failed as a mother,” She admits, messing with the buttons on Oberyn’s coat. He swats her hand away but she brings it right back up to the lapels, her doe eyes blinking up at him. 

He knew she needs to push her away, but she’s too quick, standing up on her tiptoes and pressing a rough kiss to his lips. He flounders for a moment before shoving her off, not noticing the sound of the door opening. 

“What the fuck?” He exclaims, wiping his lips roughly with the back of his coat. Her look of shock morphs into a smug smile, tapping on her lips in a gesture. 

“Might wanna wipe that off a little bit better, Obie,” she teases maliciously, referencing the red on her lips.

He snarls and slams the door behind her as she leaves, flopping on the couch and resting his head in his hands. 

You had only seen enough to know that he was in his apartment, kissing his ex-girlfriend. The words died on your lips when you opened the door to that, her hands wound in his hair and his resting on her waist. 

You’d shut it almost immediately, already feeling the hot sting of tears burn up in your eyes. 

Maybe he wanted a family again, his real family with Ambrose’s real mother. You couldn’t bring it in yourself to blame him for that— if it would make him happy, you would get by. You had to. 

But why had he led you on? Let you believe that there was even a shred of hope that he reciprocated the feelings you harbored, even the smallest chance? 

You could barely think as you raced down the stairs, the tears beginning to pour down your face. You sniffled and let your hands find their way to the necklace delicately resting on your chest, clutching it and letting a sob rack your body. 

You didn’t know what the hell you were going to do without him.


	8. March

You couldn’t exactly tell him the hurt he had put you through; no, friends didn’t become heartbroken over the kiss of another. Friends didn’t cry themselves to sleep over the loss of something that wasn’t there to begin with, mourning the death of a relationship never meant to be. He would know, without a doubt, that you loved him— so you couldn’t say a word. 

He acted… normal, around you. That morning, when you went by the office to talk to Ann, he intercepted you, a slightly worried smile on his face. 

“Are you alright? You never came by on Saturday,” he asks, only a punch to the heart for you. Did he truly not realize what had happened? What he had put you through. 

“I’m fine, Mr. Martell. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to work,” you retaliate, making very little effort to hide the venom behind your words. His features pull into surprise as you brush past him to the main room, tears threatening to escape the corners of your eyes.

He’s equally as shocked, your brisk demeanor worrying him even further. He could not remember the last time you’d referred to him as Mr. Martell— it had to have been your first meeting. 

His jaw is still slack when the bell rings, signaling that class is meant to start. He watches as the teachers filter out of the building, lingering by his office and still attempting to process your words. 

Maybe you were just having a bad day. Although, you never were the kind of person to take that out on others— what could he have possibly done to make you angry? 

He corners you outside of your classroom that afternoon, waiting until every student had filtered out before confronting you in the hallway. 

“Dove, did I… Did something happen?” He asks, watching your eyes soften at his concerned tone. You bite your lip and shake your head, trying and failing to muster up a smile for him. 

“I just… I don’t know,” you start, letting out a sigh. “I wish you had at least warned me.” 

His brows punch together in confusion and he tilts his head to the side.

“Warned you of what?” 

Your gaze meets his, the watery glaze of tears shimmering in the light of the setting sun. You look like an angel with her heart in shambles, your sad smile unconvincing. 

“Of her… I did come, on Saturday. I didn’t… I didn’t expect to see that,” you confess, your voice breaking slightly. You allow a tear to slip down your face, unable to control them any longer. 

It dawns on Oberyn, then, a burst of shock running through him when he realizes exactly what you saw. Mildred, holding him close, forcing her lips to meet with his. His lips part as he watches you sniffle and wipe your tears away. Tears caused by him. 

“Oh,” is the only word he manages to squeak out, scrambling for an excuse that you would truly believe. He had a hard time thinking that you would buy the true story, that his ex-girlfriend and forced her way into his home and into his mouth. 

“I’m— I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be getting this worked up,” you warble, furiously wiping at your tear-stained cheeks. Oberyn clicks his tongue and shakes his head, coming forward a little to place his hands on your shoulders. 

“I must say I would not expect this reaction from you, Dove. I cannot tell you that I understand it.” 

You choke on another sob, muffling it with the palm of your hand and shaking your head rapidly. 

“You don’t understand, that’s the problem. I… I’ve done everything I can to try and tell you, to show you, but you— you just don’t get it,” you cry, your voice breaking off into a harsh whisper. Oberyn slides his hand up your neck and to your face, cupping it gently. 

“What are you saying?” He asks shakily, almost afraid of the answer. 

“I love you,” you weep, squeezing your eyes shut and refusing to look him in the eye. “I love you, Oberyn.” 

It’s almost as if his world stops, his heart jumping in his chest and his mouth falling open in shock and awe. He had dreamed of you saying such things to him, pondered the life you could have together if he only were to tell you of his feelings. 

And yet, here you were, your eyes glossed with unshed tears and your bottom lip trembling as the words pour from your lips. When you finally look back up to him, there is a painful resolve in your eyes as you shake your head, wiping once more to rid yourself of the tears you’ve shed. 

“I… I can be happy for you, for your family. I can. I want you… I want you to be happy, Oberyn. That’s all. I just need time,” you murmur, sniffling a little. He’s shaking his head before he can even fully process your words, his thumb stroking across your cheek. 

“What you saw was forced, my Dove. I do not want a family with that woman.” 

You frown in confusion, your mouth open but silent. 

“She came into my home, argued with me and forced herself upon my lips. I would never have allowed you to see such a thing, had I been able to help it,” he assures, wiping away a fresh tear with the pad of his thumb. You look utterly broken but so, so beautiful, your lips and nose tinted red with the subsiding chill of the winter air. 

“But—“

“No,” he says firmly, his voice still gentle as he shakes his head. “No buts. I do not want her.” 

You feel tears welling up again at the implication of his words, feeling his warmth as he draws you closer to him. His lips are hovering mere inches from yours, his eyes full of sorrow and hope. 

“The kiss beneath the mistletoe that night, the way you allowed me to hold you through the cold winter nights… they meant everything to me, my Dove. It seems without you I am incomplete, half of the man I could be by your side. The incomprehensible amount of care I harbor for you can amount to nothing else— count all the stars in the sky and I can assure you, they will never compare to the way my heart burns for you. There is nobody else, my sweet Dove, and there never will be,” he says softly, the tiniest smile on his face as his own tears escape. He lifts his other hand to cup your face, too, using both thumbs to grace soothing motions on your cheeks. 

“I love you,” he whispers harshly, his smile never fading. “I love you.” 

You barely have time to process his admission before his lips are crashing into yours, his mustache rubbing against your top lip. All you can do is kiss him back, the only thought in your mind the way your lips fit together like they were molded for one another. 

His hand is rooted in your hair when he pulls away, his joy palpable just my looking in his dark eyes. His whole face is lit up with emotion, and you’d venture to guess that yours is, too. 

You let out a laugh in between a sob, moving both hands up to cradle his chiseled face. You couldn’t help but wonder if heaven sent him themselves, if an artist sculpted him and brought him to life. He was perfect. 

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips again, giggling in delight when his mouth meets yours again. He smiles against your lips and has to break away to laugh, his whole body coursing with the weight of his emotion. 

He breaks away just to pull you close to him, burying his face in your neck. You can feel his smile against your skin as you hug him back, your head resting upon his chest. 

“What do we do now?” You murmur against him, reaching your hand up to play with the curls at the nape of his neck. They’re just as soft as you thought they would be, a contented hum bubbling in Oberyn’s throat at your soft ministrations. 

“How about we get you out of that sad little apartment first, hm?” He asks, rubbing circles on your lower back. You gasp slightly, pulling away to look him in the eye. 

“You’re… you’re sure?” You ask, still in disbelief at his admission. The added offer of moving in together is enough to make your head reel in shock and delight. 

“I am positive. Ambrose would love to have his mommy living in the house,” he admits tenderly, tucking a wisp of stray hair from your face. 

You nearly begin to cry once more when you crash your lips to his, a soft smile spreading across them. You decided in that moment that maybe it was a good thing you went through days of heartbreak, only to be held by the man who’d captured your heart. Maybe it was meant to be.


	9. Epilogue

If you’d learned anything in the past year with him, it’s that you could spend forever and a day in Oberyn’s plush bed, snuggled up beside him. He always insisted that you called it your bed, and insisted all of his belongings were shared with you. You lived here, after all— why wouldn’t they be? 

He was still asleep, much to your surprise. Oberyn rose with the sun on most mornings, not caring to sleep in. But today, his snores gently rumbled in your ear as he held you in his sleep, his chest pressed to yours. 

He looked so peaceful, nowadays. It was as if the lines and bags around his eyes faded to nothingness, his glowing beauty only enhanced by the happiness he felt. You didn’t know if it was because of you, but you could guess it probably was. 

He begins mouthing sleepy kisses to your neck, sloppy in his motions as his tongue drags along the column of your throat. You loved waking like this, on the Saturday mornings where nothing had to be done and you could just be in bed beside each other until the sun dropped down in the sky once more. 

The sun streaming through the window from behind him almost made him seem like an Angel, the halo of light surrounding him only painting him to be more heavenly. His smile as he moves his lips up to your jaw was infectious, a small grin of your own tugging at your lips. 

“Good morning,” you whisper, taking one hand to his forehead to take your hands through his hair. He loves it, of course, practically purring as you stroke the wisps of greying hairs from his eyes. 

“Good morning, my love,” he murmurs, reaching a hand up to cup your face before bringing his lips to yours, instantly deepening it by opening his mouth.   
Oberyn loved kissing, which was another thing you found out. At any given moment his lips were on yours, on your neck, on your collarbone— it didn’t matter where they were, however, they were always on you.   
You couldn’t complain, though. You'd quite literally never met someone as skilled with their mouth as Oberyn (in more ways than one). 

But as usual, in the mornings with him, there was the disturbance of Ambrose. He busts into the room, a wide grin on his face as he jumps atop the bed.   
“Mommy! Daddy! Wake up!” He shouts, crawling on top of Oberyn and shaking him. He groggily sighs and musses up Ambrose’s floppy brown hair, shaking his head. 

“So early, son. Why don’t you give us some more time to rest, hm?” He asks, his voice raspy and deep with sleep. 

“But I’m hungry,” Ambrose protests, making a pouty face. You sigh and sit up, giving the child a sleepy smile. 

“I’ll get up and make you some, okay?” You say, earning a pleased grin from Ambrose as he clambers off the bed. Oberyn sits up straighter, a small smile upon his face. 

“Leaving me here alone?” He teases lightly, leaning forward to press yet another kiss on your lips before you fully leave the bed. 

“You can have a small break from the kids.” 

“I don’t want a break from the kids,” he teases, leaning down and kissing your showing stomach. You giggle and run your hands through his hair, biting your lip. 

“I can’t wait to meet this one,” he coos against your exposed skin, 

“Soon,” you promise. Ambrose huffs from beneath you, crossing his arms in discontent. 

“Mommy. I’m. Hungry,” he reminds you irritably. You sigh and get fully out of bed, holding your swollen stomach with one hand as you waddle out.   
Oberyn, despite your intent, crawls out of bed with you, placing one of his large hands at the small of your back. 

If you thought he was protective before the pregnancy, you were severely mistaken. Since you’d announced that you were carrying his child, he was over the moon— but he hardly let you even move without his help. 

Once again, you couldn’t blame him much. You were ready to pop any day now, your due date only drawing closer. He was hovering, as expected, ready to take you to the hospital the moment your water breaks.   
“What do you want, honey?” You ask, watching as Ambrose bounces around the kitchen with his stuffed shark in hand. Oberyn’s hand snakes around your waist and he squeezes gently, shaking his head. 

“You go sit down, my love. I’ll cook.”

“But—“

“No buts,” he chastises, making a shooing motion with his hand. “You don’t need to be standing up.” 

“I’m pregnant, sweetheart. I can still stand up.”

He tsks but doesn’t answer you, pulling out a pan from the hanging rack above the stove. You huff and sit beside Ambrose at the table tucked into the corner of the kitchen. 

“Mommy, when’s the baby gonna come?” He asks curiously, peering at your belly as you caress it gently. 

“Any day now, really.”

“Is it a girl or a boy?” 

You laugh lightly, looking to Oberyn. He has a huge smile on his face as he cracks the eggs into the pan, listening in idly. 

“We don’t know yet. Your father said he wanted it to be a surprise.” 

Oberyn turns to you then, a mock-offended expression on his face. 

“You said you wanted to have it be a surprise too!” 

You roll your eyes but give him a bright smile nonetheless, leaning over to whisper to Ambrose. 

“It was his idea.” 

“I heard that!” He calls, all three of you erupting in a heap of giggles at his exclamation. 

He brings three plates to the table and drops a kiss on your head as he sits down, looking at the members of his family. 

When Oberyn met you, only his wildest dreams could have foreseen you pregnant at his kitchen table, a ring on your finger and his child calling you Mommy. It didn’t feel out of place, though, no. You were the missing puzzle piece in his life, the half he never knew he was missing. You were everything and more; you completed him. 

He’d never felt happiness as pure as the night you delivered his child and, for the first time, he held his baby daughter in his hands. She had your eyes, the lively twinkle of yours echoed in hers. 

You were a mess, your hair plastered to your head and tired bags beneath your eyes. But when he looked at you, all he saw was radiance. All he saw was his Dove.


End file.
